


Make Room for Things to Come

by Lady_Vibeke



Series: A Thin Red Line Between Stubborn Spirits [7]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Birth, Bisexual Power Couple, Cuddling & Snuggling, Din Djarin is a Proud Badass Dad, Din Djarin is a Softie, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Pregnancy, The Big Helmet Dilemma comes to an end, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22530787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: “You're really so sure it's a girl?”There is no trace of hesitation in Cara's voice as she replies with a mischievous “Yes.”Din chuckles under his helmet. He slides his free hand into the pouch attached to his belt and tosses a handful of credits on the bed. “Wanna bet?”Cara scoffs at the pile of bars.“You know I don't bother for less than a hundred.”She pushes them back to Din and he responds by fishing another handful of credits to throw on top of the first, then pushes them towards Cara again.“Deal.”She pretends to roll her eyes, but Din can see the hint of dimples in her cheeks betraying a smile.“Okay, darling,” she whispers to her belly – or the portion of it the kid is not sprawled upon. “Did you hear that? Daddy thinks you're a boy.” She grins up at Din, adorably cheeky as only she can be. “We're gonna prove him wrong, aren't we?”
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: A Thin Red Line Between Stubborn Spirits [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579576
Comments: 106
Kudos: 390





	1. Shards of Home

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I'm not completely satisfied with this. My head is full of ideas for new oneshots and I can't seem to be able to focus properly. I'm a mess, what can I say.

The Razor Crest never felt so small.

It's an unjustified feeling: Cara is only two months along and isn't even showing yet, but it's like the space around her is responding to the change in her aura, feeling somehow _busier._

Din wakes up every morning with an arm curled around her, hand splayed over her belly, waiting patiently to notice a change – anything. It's still too early, but this doesn't stop him from trying.

The first few weeks are hard on Cara. As proud as she is to be carrying their child, she soon finds out that the more practical side of pregnancy is not as enjoyable as the idea of it: she's often sleepy, lacking energy, and the sickness doesn't subside. Din can see the conflict rise in her as her body starts adjusting to the slow changes taking place inside of her. He witnesses them all in wonder: her face softening, the hard muscles in her abdomen growing tender, allowing the little life beneath to grow.

She's just hit the eleventh week when Din sees her strip down to her underwear to come to bed and his heart skips a beat.

Completely oblivious, Cara throws her clothes in a corner and stretches her back, a hand lazily combing through her hair. And right there, as her back flexes, Din can see a light swell in her stomach – barely visible, barely there, but apparent to him, who has been observing that exact spot with religious dedication for weeks.

“You're showing.”

He breathes it out in such quiet awe that Cara barely notices.

“Uh?”

Din sits up, casts the sheets of the bunk aside, swings his legs over the edge and pulls Cara to himself.

“You're showing,” he repeats, half laughing in amazement, smiling up at her under his helmet.

Cara glances down, hesitantly runs her hands across her abdomen. “Am I? I don't see anything.”

“I do.”

Din presses his palm just below her navel, his thumb swiping back and forth reverently. It's almost imperceptible, but it's there – a thickness that wasn't there before, a curve so light no one else would notice, not even Cara herself. But he does. _He does._ It's finally there: the first tangible sign of what is happening.

He feels Cara's hand on the back of his helmet.

“Well,” she says softly. “If we're far along enough for me to start showing, maybe this damn sickness will finally go away.”

She says _we._ She always says _we,_ even if she's the one doing all the hard work and Din is only trying his best to make himself useful whenever he can, however useless he may feel most of the time. Cara never faults him for his clumsiness when he tries to take care of her; she's sweet and kind and understanding and never forgets to thank him for the very little he manages to do right.

The kid is fascinated by the change in their family dynamics: he can sense something is happening and there are times when Din catches him climbing up to Cara as she sleeps, cuddling up to her ever so carefully, as if sensing there is _something_ to be careful about.

“Can you worship me with the lights off?” asks Cara, tugging gently at his helmet to make her point.

He can. Of course he can. He can worship her in any condition.

He slides his helmet off as she turns off the lights. Cara goes to sit on his lap, arms locking behind his neck, breasts pressing against him; Din grabs her hips, dizzy from the arousal flaring from his crotch. She snickers under her breath.

“Turned on by my belly swelling?” she teases. “I wonder what you'll do when I'm too big to sit like this.”

Din nuzzles his face in the crook of her neck. He inhales her scent, savours the softness of her skin with a languid brush of his lips, smirking. “I'm sure we will find an arrangement.”

Cara lets her head fall to one side to grant him better access to the spot below her pulse that he knows will make her mewl and squirm in delight.

“Give me a good time, Djarin,” she whispers, low and husky. Obedient, Din trails his ministrations down to her clavicle, and down again to her chest, rewarded with a delighted moan.

He guides her down onto the bed, kissing her neck as his hands sneak into her underwear. Cara arches beneath him, spreading her legs wide as he ruts against her, both groaning from the relief the friction provides.

“It will be my pleasure.”

It takes him nothing to take her apart, sensitive as she's become. He knows exactly where to touch, where to suck, where to bite, knows how she will react to the scratch of his stubble on her breasts. The heat of her body takes his breath away, the ecstatic ripple of her muscles under his palms a drug he can't seem to get used to, even after such a long time, even now that he knows every inch of her body by heart.

There's a fire in Cara. It's always been there, but it's burning hotter and fiercer, now; it's like it's fuelled by the awareness that the precious thing nestled inside her is hers to nurture and protect, hers to care and fight for. It's not so much a duty as it is an instinct, and as time goes by Din starts realising this instinct is growing stronger and stronger in himself, as well, making him act as if Cara is something extremely brittle that needs his protection, even though he knows she's perfectly capable of protecting herself. He's glad Cara finds this amusing rather than annoying.

At fourteen weeks, the bump is way too noticeable and definite to be mistaken for anything else than exactly what it is. Cara doesn't fit into her Beskar garments any longer but still insists to wear the armour pieces whenever she can. It's going to be hard for her to let go of that armour when she's too heavy to carry around herself _and_ the weight of the Beskar. But this is an issue Din will worry about in due time.

Most of their mornings start with Cara rushing out of bed in the absolute dark and Din stumbling into the sheets to tail after her to dab a fresh wet cloth on her neck and hold her hair back as she throws up.

“I swear to the stars!” Cara curses, rising from the basin she's been retching into for the past fifteen minutes. “If I have to spend another single morning, afternoon or night bent over a kriffing-”

A new wave of nausea smothers whatever she was about to say. Din's heart cringes at the shake of her shoulders as she coughs out a lump of bile.

They've tried all sorts of medicines, nothing seems to work or stay in her stomach long enough to produce a result. He rubs her back, wishing he could take this stress for her. When he's sure she's given all she had, he hands her a glass of water to rinse her mouth and gently gathers her into his arms, sitting with her on the floor while she rests back against him and takes deep breaths.

He kisses her temple.

“Don't,” she whines weakly. “I'm gross.”

“I don't care.”

They stay there for a while, immobile. He knows it takes Cara a while before she can stand on her feet after these episodes. The kid joins them after a couple of minutes. Din can only see the vague shape of him wobbling toward them with confidence despite the darkness; he plops down into Cara's lap and immediately her arms fold around him. Within seconds, Din feels her body relax, her breath even out.

“Thank you,” Cara murmurs to the kid. Din can almost feel a small smile spreading on her lips.

The child does this whenever he feels she needs him to: uses his powers to soothe her, to make her better. Where medicines fail, he always succeeds, and Din couldn't be more proud of him. This is tiring for him, though, so Din and Cara try not to take advantage of his gift as long as not strictly necessary.

Din, however, is well aware they can't keep throwing Cara here and there across the galaxy. It's not healthy. He's been turning an idea in his head for a while now.

“It gets worse when we're flying,” he whispers while kissing her shoulder. She's not going to like what he's about to suggest. “We should find somewhere safe for you to rest for a while. The kid would happily take a break, too.”

Cara groans. He knows she wants to complain, but he played the kid card and she can't object to that.

“What do you say, Bean? Wanna find a little cosy hut where we can chill for a while like we did on Hesper VI?”

The child gurgles cheerfully, to which Cara responds with a feeble sigh.

“You heard the kid, Daddy. Brief pause it is.”

Din didn't think he could have it so easily. Cara must really be exhausted to give in this quickly.

“We're close to the Chommell sector. Naboo would be a good choice. What about Dee'ja Peak?”

“That boring shit hole? Are you serious?”

“You need fresh air and little trouble,” he says, as reasonably as he can. He can't imagine a place less problematic than a peaceful village in the green mountains of Naboo. “Dee'ja Peak will be perfect – and cheaper, if we need to stay for a while.”

“Staying for a while as in settle down?”

“Only until your sickness passes. It's not going to be long.” He slides a hand over her pronounced abdomen to stress his point.

“People will _notice,”_ Cara argues.

“Notice what?”

“You know what? What the hell,” says Cara like she didn't hear him at all. “We won't be able to hide this for much longer, anyway.”

“You mean _this?”_ he asks, confused, lightly squeezing his hand over her belly. “Why should we hide it?”

“I see how people look at pregnant women – like they're some stupid delicate flower that needs to be protected and looked after.” Din can perfectly picture the disgusted grimace on her face. “I swear, Din, if I ever catch you looking at me like that-”

“I will never look at you in anything but awe,” he cuts her off, and the answer seems to satisfy her enough to earn him a quick peck on his cheek.

“You better remember that,” she warns. Din is fairly sure he won't easily forget.

They land on Naboo on a cloudy day. They leave the Crest in a small clearing in the forest and walk their way to the village across the lush vegetation. The air smells like rain and wet grass.

Cara insists to carry her own backpack, but every now and then she has to stop to catch her breath. Din doesn't say anything the first couple of times; the third, she looks so pale he just can't help asking:

“Are you okay?”

Cara drops her backpack, props to a tree with one elbow and rubs her belly.

“I'm okay, just... a little compressed.” She takes a few deep breaths and some colour returns to her face. The fresh air around here is going to do her good. “My internal organs are having a hard time dealing with the new rearrangement. Having a kid growing inside you feels a lot like having a rock in your stomach. Only the rock keeps swelling and kriffing _moves.”_

She can describe it, use metaphors, but Din can't really understand what it's like. He's sure part of Cara's frustration derives from that thin sheen of fear that still lingers in her heart,

When Din picks up her backpack and throws it over his shoulder along with his own, she doesn't protest. After this, she doesn't need any more stops.

They reach the village in less than half an hour. Din knew about this place but it's nothing like he had pictured: there are no wooden huts, here, but elegant stone buildings and pavement in the streets. It's nothing like the magnificence of Theed, but, for such a small place, it is remarkably luxurious.

When they get to the town centre, there are not many people around, probably discouraged by the rainy weather. They spot an old man sitting on a bench in front of a herb shop with a pipe in his mouth. They stop by to ask him if there is an inn where they can stay for a few weeks.

The man scratches his white beard, considering them one by one. His attention falls on the child, peeking shyly from his carrier.

“There's one just down the street. On the right, you can't miss it.” He waves his pipe in the child's direction. “Been a while since I saw one like him.”

Both Din and Cara freeze. They exchange a cautious look: they need to test the waters, find out what this man actually knows about the kid's species without raising suspicions.

Din tilts his helmet in a way only perceptible to Cara. She gives him a slight nod, so he inquires:

“Do you know something about his people?”

The old man sets his chin. “I might. Who's asking?”

“My name is Din. This is my wife Cara. We're his parents.” He runs a hand over the child's head, and the child coos happily. “He's... special. We've been trying for a long while to find his kind to see if they can help us with him, with no luck.”

The man considers the kid, taking a few pensive puffs from his pipe. He shoots a glance at Din, then at Cara, at the hand she's protectively resting over her stomach.

“If advice is what you're looking for, his kind can't help you.”

“We've been told to look for the Jedi,” says Cara, frowning.

The man lets out a raspy laugh.

“The Jedi, like the Mandalorians, are people of many kinds.” He moves aside a little, patting the empty space next to himself while looking at Cara. “You should sit down, girl, you seem a little light-headed.”

“How do you-”

The man grins amiably. “A feeling.”

Not without a bit of understandable reluctance, Cara takes a seat. Only now Din notices how slowly she's moving, the faint greenish colour of her face. He, her husband, had missed these signs, and this man, a perfect stranger, didn't?

“You're like him.”

It comes out maybe too harsh, it almost sounds like an accusation. The man doesn't seem to mind. He huffs out a laugh along with a puff of smoke, his eyes rising to Din under his thick grey brows.

“Maybe. It's been a while since I met someone with this... peculiarity. You have a great responsibility towards these children and their gift.”

“Children?” Din starts asking, but the old man doesn't let him finish.

“If you're looking for the Jedi,” he grumbles. “I'm sorry to tell you yours is a hopeless quest.”

Din's heart sinks. He sees Cara turn to him, worry painted all over her face. It might be a lie, or an inaccurate truth. There is no reason they should trust this guy, but from their experience so far what he just told them only makes sense. Unfortunately.

The man stares into the distance, as if gazing into another time, another place. “They're all gone. All is left is people scattered here and there who could have been Jedi but lack a guidance. We're nothing more than lonely sparks in a big, big universe. There are rumours, tales of voices from the Afterlife speaking to those whose ears are fine enough to listen. But you're looking for a concrete aid, not a legend, and legends of the Jedi are all there is left.”

Din hangs his head in disappointment. He meets the child's eyes, wide and puzzled by this sudden sulking.

“Can you help us with his... gift?”

“I'm sorry, son.” In a cloud of smoke, the man shakes his head with a grave expression. “I'm but a pilot with a ship I don't know how to drive. You alright there, child?” he asks, patting a hand on Cara's knee without even turning to her.

Cara has the back of her hand pressed over her mouth, meaning she's feeling sick again.

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “Just a little-” she shuts her eyes, inhaling sharply. Din couches in front of her; he's about to ask if she needs a sip of water, when the old man pokes his head into the open door of the shop and shouts:

“Ona! Get this girl one of your herbal teas, will you?”

Mere seconds later, a busty elderly lady comes sauntering out of the shop, cleaning her hands into a battered apron.

“What sort of tea do you- Oh.” She comes to a halt as soon as she spots Cara. A small smile tugs on her lips when she realises the situation. “Good girl, _of course!_ I'll be right back with- Oh, but where are my manners? Come on in, all of you. There's a storm coming,” she says, aiming two judgemental green eyes at Din. “Where do you think you're going with that little one and this poor thing in her condition?”

In spite of the nausea, Cara still seems to find the energy to look outraged at the insinuation that she can't handle a stroll in the rain. Anticipating her reaction, Din squeezes her knees warningly and, before she can speak, thanks the lady for her kindness.

They never make it to the inn at the end of the street.

The old couple, Ona and Jarrick Anura, immediately take a shining to them, and before Din and Cara know they're sitting at the big table in the Anuras' kitchen with a whole meal spread out for them and a steamy pot of herbal tea that miraculously quenches Cara's nausea after just a couple of sips.

It's dark by the time the food and the pleasant chats are over. Din doesn't really want to leave: there's something warm and wonderful in the atmosphere, a sense of domesticity that for a moment makes him feel like this is their place – a good place to raise their children.

It is impossible to refuse Ona's offer to take the spare room she and Jarrick have upstairs.

“You can stay as long as you like. It's not like we have much to do, is it right, Jarr?”

“You kids heard the lady,” Jarrick guffaws. “She's not gonna let you go.”

“Don't you forget to take that plate upstairs with you,” says Ona when Din announces it's time for him, Cara, and the kid to retire. “And come back for more if you're still hungry, you look scrawny under that shiny thing of yours.”

Cara snickers all the way to their room. Din has been called a lot of things, but _scrawny_ is news, and he's not even as offended as he should be. Ona's motherly concern is genuine, and perhaps he's slightly touched by it.

“I can't believe your charming scrawny ass got us free board for the time being,” giggles Cara as she exits the fresher, smelling like mint and citrus.

Din doesn't dignify that with an answer. He just keeps building up a tower with the old wooden blocks Jarrick gave them to entertain the child.

“Can you pass me the red one?”

The kid picks up a tiny yellow brick from the floor. “The red one,” Din repeats gently. The kid looks around with a bubbly sound; he tries again but notices the shake of Din's head and tries again, this time successfully reaching out for one of the red blocks.

“Yes, that's right,” Din smiles proudly. “Can you put it here? Yes, like that. Good job.”

The red brick has barely laid on top of the tower for two seconds when the kid, on an excess of enthusiasm, makes their piece of art crumble down while attempting to hug it.

Din bursts out laughing at the dismay appearing on his little green face. He can't remember last time he felt so serene and relaxed. His thoughts wander off to a planet not much different from this one, covered in greenery and clear waters. A beautiful corner of the universe to build a home for his family. If it's true that there is no hope to find the Jedi... what is stopping them from accepting Kaunis's gift?

He and the kid just started building up a new tower when he hears Cara gasp.

He's on his feet in less then a blink, rushing to her with his heart throbbing in his throat. She's bent over herself with both hands clutching her bump.

“Are you in pain?” he panics. “Is it-”

Cara exhales an astonished giggle. “I think she just kicked.”

Din paralyses.

“What?”

“She just- Here!” Cara grabs his hand and guides it to a very precise spot of her belly, pressing gently. “Wait a sec,” she says, her smile as bright on her lips and it is in her eyes.

Din has opened his mouth to confess he can't feel anything, when something happens under his palm. It's like a small bubble moving under the surface of Cara's skin, faint but very _real._

“Did you feel that?” Cara asks, still giggling like she can't believe what is happening. “Did you-”

“Yes.” Din can't recognise his own voice, so strangled and feeble and _awed._ The baby kicks again and his knees tremble.

All of a sudden, he feels small and helpless, a speck of dust floating in the sunlight. He's made this – he and Cara made this. Someone is alive, in there, because two years ago they met on an unlikely planet in unlikely circumstances and never let go of each other ever since.

“Hey.” Cara's hand touches the side of his helmet. “You're shaking.”

He is.

He feels a tug at his leg. The kid is looking up at him in concern.

“It's alright, buddy.” Cara picks him up and gives him a reassuring caress. “Your dad is just a giant softie.”

She's playing tough, but Din can see the emotion shimmering in her eyes. If he could, he would kiss her; all he can do, instead, is take her and the child into his arms and hold them close, thanking every star out there for this blessing he doesn't deserve but cherishes with every fibre of his being. He would die for them any moment. He would kill for them.

They stay with the Anuras for almost two months.

From time to time, Din leaves for small, simple bounties that never keep him away for longer than a couple of days. He hates leaving Cara and the kid but knows they are safe with Ona and Jarrick, and every time he returns and is welcomed back by all those happy faces, he's overwhelmed by the inebriating feeling of _coming home._

It's late in the evening when he climbs upstairs after his latest hunt, pockets full of credits and a generous dinner piled in the plate in his hands. He's hungry, but all he wants right now is to see his family again.

He finds the door open: Cara is lying on her back on the bed with her shirt rolled up and the kid splayed all over her belly as if listening to the sea from a shell. She's so big, now, that Din sometimes forgets they still have a few months to go.

“What is it?” Cara is cooing, her hands cupping her belly as she laughs at the child's curious expression. “What's going on?” With one huge ear still glued to her stomach, the child looks at her in confusion for what is happening underneath. “That's your baby sis. Can you feel her? Yeah?”

Din crosses his arms and leans against the door frame, wishing both of them could see how hard he's smiling at them.

“Moving again?”

Startled by the unexpected sound of his voice, the child jumps and spins around, instinctively raising his arms in his direction.

“Moving? “ Cara arches a brow at Din as he approaches. His chest fills with warmth as soon as he sits down and takes the kid into his arms. “She's trying to destroy my spine. When it's not my spine, it's my bladder.”

Din can see the light lumps rising here and there in the stretched skin of Cara's belly. The baby must be particularly restless, tonight. He takes off his gauntlet and glove to check the situation and grins at how strong the movements are under his fingers. He traces small circles, trying to follow the baby's erratic turning.

“Keep doing that,” sighs Cara in relief. “It's calming her.”

“I wish there was more I could do,” he comments, unable to tear his eyes from her. The fact that she's only getting more beautiful as the pregnancy progresses never ceases to amaze him. He absently runs his thumb over the stretch marks on her side as she scoffs.

“Unless we find a way to surgically transfer her into _your_ body,” she retorts. “No.”

They both laugh. Din seeks for her hand and intertwines his fingers with hers, holding tightly – their favourite surrogate of a kiss.

“I'm just glad you're back,” Cara whispers. She presses their joint hands to her chest; Din can feel her heart beating quietly against his knuckles, the warmth of her skin comforting after three whole days spent far away from her, missing her by his side like he was missing his own soul.

He wants to tell her, but the kid tumbles off his lap and throws himself over her belly again, resting a cheek on top of it, listening. He flinches when a little lump pops up under his face; he looks down at it until it vanishes, studies the smooth skin, poking at it with a light frown.

Cara smiles fondly.

“Look at him: he's so confused.” She strokes his fluffy head all the way up to the point of the ear sticking up in the air. “Feels like she enjoys responding to his touches.”

Din is exhausted; he needs a shower and the food in the plate Ona gave him must have run cold, by now. He couldn't care less. He's never been happy as he's been in these few weeks in Dee'ja Peak, away from battles and blood and worries. This is a life he could get used to.

“You're really so sure it's a girl?”

There is no trace of hesitation in Cara's voice as she replies with a mischievous “Yes.”

Din chuckles under his helmet. He slides his free hand into the pouch attached to his belt and tosses a handful of credits on the bed. “Wanna bet?”

Cara scoffs at the pile of bars.

“You know I don't bother for less than a hundred.”

She pushes them back to Din and he responds by fishing another handful of credits to throw on top of the first, then pushes them towards Cara again.

“Deal.”

She pretends to roll her eyes, but Din can see the hint of dimples in her cheeks betraying a smile.

“Okay, darling,” she whispers to her belly – or the portion of it the kid is not sprawled upon. “Did you hear that? Daddy thinks you're a boy.” She grins up at Din, adorably cheeky as only she can be. “We're gonna prove him wrong, aren't we?”

Later, when the child is asleep and Din, clean and restored, can finally lie down in bed with Cara, he finds himself trying to picture what the baby will look like, wondering if Cara does this, too, and if it bothers her not to know what to expect. What will she think of their son or daughter? How will it be for her to see glimpses of the man she loves in the face of their child, in his or her eyes? If there is going to be any at all.

He wouldn't mind if the baby looked everything like Cara. He would be very proud of that.

Right before falling asleep, he kisses the nape of Cara's neck, thinking of how drastically their life is going to change in just another few months, and how this doesn't remotely scare him as it should.

He also just realised he never cared so little about winning or losing a bet.


	2. The Face of a Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Din finds some much needed peace and bares himself to who matters most... at long last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took forever. I've been quite sick and today was the first day I felt like a human being again... surprisingly, it was the right day to be productive, so here we are.

Leaving Dee'ja Peak feels like walking out of a daydream.

The weeks Din spent here with Cara and the child have been marked by so much happiness he's almost afraid that going away will make him feel as if none of it ever happened – Ona and Jarrick's warm kindness, the nights spent playing cards at the big table by the window as the kid built lopsided cities with his wooden blocks. Sometimes Cara would sit at the table and play, sometimes she would just watch peacefully from the armchair by the fire, cradling her rounded belly with a blissful smile that will be forever etched into Din's mind as one of his dearest memories.

As he packs their stuff, Din realises they're leaving with twice the luggage they arrived with: between the old toys the Anuras are letting them have for the child, the several pieces of clothing from Jarrick's younger days that he insisted Din should take and the wide assortment of maternity clothes Ona personally sewed for Cara, it feels like they're moving out rather than returning to what has always been their home. As the months go by, Din grows more and more aware that he can't raise this family on the old Crest. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought of Beltas Dor still calls, more and more tempting.

“I'm going to miss this place,” Cara sighs while folding her garments to place them neatly into one of her bags. She moves more slowly, now, walks differently. Din has never felt so protective of her as he does now: she's still strong and can certainly look after herself, but her body's purpose is to nurture and protect the child inside of her, now, and her physicality has changed accordingly, turning her reactions into an instinct to defend herself rather than attack.

Not that she's had any reason to guard herself, here. Dee'ja Peak is haven of tranquillity, perhaps even too much. Despite the good time they had here, it's time for them to move on.

Jarrick and Ona load them with food and herbs to help Cara sleep and ease her sore back. Din and Cara hug them, thank them for the millionth time, and promise to come back to visit with the little one, when it's born. Parting from them is tougher than Din could have anticipated the day they arrived here: the old couple treated them like family, loved them and took care of them, and Din can't imagine what it will be like not to wake up to the comforting smell of Ona's caf in the morning, or listening to the tales of the old Jedi sorcerers from Jarrick's gravelly voice.

When Ona gives Cara one last hug goodbye and calls her _'my dear child',_ Cara tears up and returns the hugs mumbling some moved thanks and blaming her reaction on hormones.

There are smiles, and a lot of sniffling, and endless recommendations, and when they finally get on the Crest its metallic walls almost feel foreign.

“Hey.” Cara gently puts a hand on Din's shoulder as he readies the ship for take off. “We couldn't have stayed forever.”

“I know,” he mutters, looking up at her. She has the kid perched on her hip, half plastered over her belly. The way she's smiling at him gives his mood an instant boost.

She sits down in the seat behind him, not without a certain difficulty. Din goes back to check the control panel before Cara senses his amusement and smacks him in the head.

The jump into hyperspace makes the child giggle in excitement; it's been a while since he last flew and apparently missed the thrill of light speed. After all the solitary hunts, Din missed having them by his side, too.

He stares at the coordinates of the panel in front of himself and feels his guts twist with nervousness, but he's put off this moment long enough: it's time for him to officially introduce his family to his tribe, or whoever remains of them.

“Are you sure you're ready for this?” asks Cara in a careful whisper.

“I'm sure,” Din answers, though a part of him, which he's not willing to acknowledge, is secretly afraid of what they will find.

Returning to Nevarro was not an easy decision. Last time they were there, the Armourer and a pile of empty Beskar shells were all that was left of Din's covert. He knows for a fact that some of his old companions are still alive out there but he's never met any of them nor he knows how many they are, if they would still feel like they belong to what used to be their tribe. Maybe they have formed clans of their own elsewhere, by now. Din did, after all.

They find the destruction they left behind on Nevarro has been restored to the town it used to be before the Imps raided it down. There are differences here and there – new faces, different voices – but most of it is the same and walking in its dusty streets feels like a jump in the past. But the Din Djarin who's here today isn't the one who used to live here years ago, and somehow he has a feeling it's somebody else's memory that is guiding him through the bazar, one hand in Cara's and the other holding the child to his chest.

He tries to stay ahead to avoid people bumping into Cara; they wiggle through the crowd until he finally finds the old entrance to the covert, concealed behind a pile of crates full of stone-like luminescent eggs.

The sewers haven't changed: he finds his way through them as if he never left, but the tunnels are silent and lack the bristling activity that used to fill them when the Mandalorians lived here.

“Nervous?” Cara whispers. They're getting closer to the covert: he couldn't hope she wouldn't pick up on his tension.

“This used to be my life,” he says, and it's like somebody else is speaking. Their steps echo faintly around them. “It feels like it was never real.”

There is nothing left of the bounty hunter who would roam the galaxy collecting wanted people without looking any of them in the face. All it took was one wrong decision, a moment of unguarded weakness, to compromise everything he had ever worked for. He can't look back at the day he turned his back to everything he was to save the child's life and see it as a mistake; he has what he has today because of it. If anything, that reckless decision turned out to be a blessing.

The enclave is quiet when they enter. There in no trace of the sorry destruction Din remembers from last time: everything is clean and tidy, taken care of. This is not an abandoned place.

The sound of footsteps coming from around the corner of one of the tunnels makes him and Cara reach for their blasters. They aim them at the entrance across the chamber, where a figure has appeared in a faint halo of orange light. It takes them a couple of seconds to recognise who it is.

“You can put those away,” says the Armourer in her measured drawl. She comes forward, sliding her sword back into the sheath hanging by her side.

She holds out her hand and Din clasps his hand up to her elbow, squeezing as they shake.

“Din Djarin. It is good to see you.”

“Good to see you too.”

The Armourer's attention lingers briefly on him and the child in his arms before turning in Cara's direction.

“Your clan has grown,” she says, a hint of curiosity in her voice. “And is about to grow again, it seems.”

Before Din can reply, the woman walks up to Cara, taking her in from head to toe.

“You are with child.”

Cara defiantly arches a brow at her.

“No kidding,” she giggles. She has one hand resting on the small of her back and the other rubbing the underside of her rounded belly. “What gave it away?”

Din tries very hard to conceal his laugh with a snort. This was supposed to be a solemn moment.

“I'm sorry, she's-”

“Capable of making Din Djarin laugh,” the Armourer finishes for him. She sounds pleased. “A power I believed no one possessed.”

Cara smiles at her, oozing pride.

“Took me a while to perfection my technique, but I think I own him, by now.”

The Armourer seems immune to Cara's witty humour. She's still focused on the roundness of her belly, watching it intently. Din can easily imagine what she must be thinking. It's hard to believe even for him, sometimes – that Cara is having his child and never once saw him without his helmet.

“How far along?”

“A little over seven months.”

“And all this time,” The Armourer rises her helmet to meet Cara's eyes. “You have never seen his face?”

Cara takes no offence from the insinuation. She gives the other woman a challenging look, chin set, then shrugs in perfect nonchalance.

“He's still wearing his bucket, isn't he?”

The Armourer's head slowly tips sideways. Din imagines her smiling the same way he is. Cara has this effect on people: she can be terrifying, but she's a charmer, when she wants, and there is no escape from her spell.

“You are worthy of the honour that was bestowed upon you,” the Armourer declares, turning back to Din for a moment. It makes him wonder if she means that Cara is the worthy one or Din himself.

Cara's face opens into a shit-eating grin. “I guess I am, ma'am.”

“We are united by the laws of the Way,” Din intervenes, feeling like he needs to clarify this. His wife may not be a Mandalorian, but she is a rightful spouse and has always respected his culture. This is one of the reasons why he thought it was important for them to come here: for their bond to be witnessed by one of his people.

The Armourer nods.

“Then your union is blessed,” she comments, then her look falls upon Cara's pauldrons, the only piece of her armour that still fits. “She wears Beskar.”

“A gift,” Din conveys. “From Kaunis Novalis of Coruscant.”

There is a brief silence. The Armourer considers Cara's pauldrons as if they're speaking to her and, in a way, they are. Kaunis has donated considerable amounts of money to their covert, especially for the care of the foundlings, and among their tribe she was always cherished and respected as an ally. That fact that Cara was presented with this Beskar automatically makes her trustworthy.

“A most generous gift,” the Armourer nods approvingly. “From a dear friend of our people.” She places a hand on Cara's shoulder; her voice carries as smile when she adds: “Wear it with pride.”

Cara smirks. “I do.”

“You have chosen well, Din,” the Armourer says, never taking her eyes from Cara.

Din glances down at the kid, sitting in the crook of his arm: he's grinning as if he could understand what is going on. Cara is visibly happy, too, touched by the validation she just received. She's earned it, and Din couldn't be more proud to have her by his side.

“Yes, I agree.”

Cara shakes her head to him. “You're a smug little shit.”

“Guilty, my love,” he indulges with a playful bow of his head that makes Cara scoff.

Din inquires about any survivors and the Armourer tells him what he already suspected: some reappeared, took what could be taken, and left again, never to return. Whatever Din's tribe once was, it is now but a distant memory.

“They will build new tribes, carry on with our legacy,” the Armourer says when Din expresses his grief. “This is the Way.”

And though it is not much to hang on to, it's something. Someone survived. Some of his brothers and sisters are still out there and maybe one day he'll meet them again.

When the kid starts getting hungry, they climb up to the surface to find an inn where to eat. Cara sits down with the child and gets soup for both of them. Din watches from afar, sitting at the bar with the Armourer. Occasionally, in between spoonfuls she alternates between herself and the kid, Cara casts Din surreptitious glances, to which he responds with imperceptible nods. He could watch her forever, giggling at the mess the kid is making with his own soup.

“She is good for you,” the Armourer says, following his adoring gaze. “I had never felt this happiness in your voice before.”

Din smiles to himself.

It's _that_ obvious, isn't it? His face is buried beneath a mask, but what he feels for Cara always seems to shine through, even when he doesn't mean to.

He leans back with his elbows against the bar, trying not to sound too self-complacent.

“I think I didn't really know what it was, before them.”

“But you have concerns.”

He turns to the Armourer, caught by surprise by this observation. So it's not just his love for Cara seeping through his mask.

His gaze returns to where Cara and the child are sitting; she's trying to pry a huge bone from his mouth, laughing at how stubbornly he's trying to stick it all into his tiny mouth. Din watches her as she leans back in her chair, gently pats her belly while saying something to the kid. ' _Won't you give it up for your little sister?',_ Din reads on her lips. The child observes her intently, the bone hanging from his mouth; he considers Cara's hand on her belly, looking conflicted. Then Cara smiles encouragingly, and the child pops the bone out and reaches forward with it, poking it against Cara's stomach with remarkable determination. Cara laughs in delight.

Din's heart feels like it wasn't built to contain so much love.

“Look at her,” he whispers, more to himself than to the woman next to him. “Loyal, brave, beautiful. She's given me all of herself unconditionally, she's giving me a child...” He stops right before his voice breaks. It takes a few seconds before he can continue: “And she never once asked for anything in return.”

“You feel you don't deserve her,” the Armourer mutters, following his gaze.

“I don't.”

“And you wish you could show her your face.”

Din looks down at he floor, guilt stinging in his chest.

“The Way forbids me to be hers as much as she is mine. She's carrying my child and she doesn't even know what I look like.”

The Armourer seems unaffected by the regret in his tone. She leans back, still observing Cara and the child.

“She loves you,” she assesses matter-of-factly. “She doesn't need to know what you look like.” She makes a pause, then: “Have you ever _wanted_ to show yourself to anybody else?”

The question puzzles Din.

“No,” he replies at once. He doesn't even need to think: his creed has never been an issue, he never felt tempted to violate it, to reveal himself... until he met Cara.

“It is our duty to stand up to those who demand that we break out oath,” the Armourer says flatly, as if talking about something without importance. “It is right to deny the truth to such arrogance. But why hide from those who do not care what lies beneath these masks?”

She turns to him, her blank facade staring at the blankness of his own. What she's saying makes sense. They're ghosts trapped under these shiny cases: they wouldn't even recognise each other, stripped of their armours. What is the purpose of a life spent hiding, if no one can ever see who they are beneath the surface of their Beskar?

“What would you do,” she asks. “If a stranger came to your home and tried to tear down the door?”

“I would fight them,” he says with no hesitation. “Protect my home.”

“We all would, wouldn't we?” The Armourer agrees. “But what if, instead, someone you love was outside, standing in front of that same door – not knocking, not calling... just quietly waiting?”

Something starts shifting in Din's perspective. His eyes instinctively seek Cara's; she sends him a curious half a smile, then gets distracted by the kid attempting to grab the jug of water in the middle of the table.

Din's heart misses a beat.

“I would invite them in.”

“Why?”

His mouth is going dry. The blood pumps deafeningly in his ears as his mind starts processing what this conversation is leading to.

“Because,” he breathes. “My home is theirs, too.”

He's frozen, overwhelmed by the truth he's always been looking for cracking open in front of him out of nowhere, an unexpected sparkle of light in a pit of inescapable darkness.

The Armourer nods. “You have your answer, then.”

Could it really be so simple? Can this really be the catch that would make everything so much easier – so much better?

Next to him, the Armourer is waiting. She doesn't speak again until Din exhales a stunned breath, his power of speech lost in the shock of the revelation that just changed his entire life in less than a blink.

“We put helmets on our children to teach them that they should know people and be known to people for who they really are – _here,”_ the Armourer places a gloved hand above the left side of his breastplate. “Not here,” she adds, moving her hand to touch two fingers on the visor between his eyes.

“Your wife has proven the sincerity of her love: it is time for you to take your own path.” She squeezes his shoulder through his armour. He can't see it, but he feels there is a smile stretching her lips. “Let your son know your smile. Let the woman you love look into the eyes of the man she loves. Let the first face your unborn child sees be yours.”

Din can't utter a single sound. His hands are sweating; he curls them into tight fists to keep them from shaking, looking longingly at Cara and the child as everything he's always believed in crumbles into pieces and takes a whole new shape, a whole new meaning.

“You are the patriarch of a clan of your own, now: find your own Way, Din Djarin. Carry on our tradition as you believe is best. Not for yourself, but for those who will come after you.”

_Those who'll come after him._

He expected to come here and be reprimanded for his doubts, his weakness. Finding support instead of shame is something he couldn't have anticipated, and now it's like a crushing weight has been lifted off his shoulders, setting him free, allowing him to stand tall and without regret. Now he can be the man his family deserves.

“Thank you,” he mutters feebly. All he can think about is Cara, how he's going to tell her about this, how she will react. It's both exciting and petrifying.

“Heart before blood,” the Armourer says as she stands up. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” Din says, returning the slight nod she gives him before turning her back to him.

She disappears among the patrons and he's left alone with the buzzing of his conscience, adrift in an ocean of possibilities so vast he doesn't know where to begin.

He doesn't remember getting out of the inn and walking back to the Razor Crest. When the ramp hisses closed behind him, he's like jolted awake from a trance, standing there like he doesn't know what to do with his own body.

Sensing his tension, Cara places the sleeping child into his cot and goes to Din with a look full of concern.

“Hey.” She places a hand on his arm, tugging gently. “Is everything okay?”

Din still isn't breathing normally. He flinches when Cara touches him, fuelling her worry. All he wants is to shake off his Beskar piece by piece, strip down until he's naked and finally let her see him. But his urge is not as strong as his fear, because, despite knowing his looks don't matter to her, no one has seen his face since he was a child and the idea of giving up his helmet feels both like a liberation and terrifying exposure. Will she still see him for who is is, once she gets to see his face? Will _he_ still recognise himself after giving this to her?

One look in her eyes is enough to give him the answer he needs.

Shivering, he takes her face into her hands and touches his forehead to hers.

“Now it is,” he murmurs, then, with the afternoon sun bathing the cockpit with its pale light, he takes his hands to the sides of his helmet and starts lifting it off. Predictably, Cara grabs his wrists to block him.

“What are you doing?” she asks, vaguely alarmed. He will never forget the adorable panic on her face in this very moment, but this is not going to stop him. Nothing can stop him, now.

“What is right.”

“But your creed-”

“- compels me to serve the teachings of the Way,” he firmly cuts in. “And the Way says that my family comes before anything else.”

Cara is still gripping his wrists like her life depends on it.

“We built this family out of love and respect,” she says in a trembling whisper. “Whatever lies under this thing, it doesn't change who we are. Your creed was never an issue.” Her fingers tighten around Din's wrists, trying to rip them off the helmet. He doesn't let her.

“Why is this so important, all of a sudden?”

Din almost wants to laugh. If she knew – if only she knew how long he's been struggling with himself and all he is, always quietly, always in the dark, not wanting her to think of him as weak or foolish. Only now he realises he was foolish for having doubts: he and Cara are one. His family is a part of his soul, and he a part of theirs, and no one keeps secrets from themselves.

“None of this is sudden,” he explains softly. “I've been thinking about this for a long time, Cara. This helmet- it was never a burden, until I met you.”

“Din,” she almost begs. “You know I don't care what you look like under that thing. You don't have to do this for me-”

“I'm doing this for _us,”_ he corrects, lowering her hands. “All of us. Can you respect my decision?”

Cara gapes at him, eyes wide and lost. He can tell by her genuine shock that this is a conversation she never thought they would be having, and he loves her even more for this.

“Yes,” she mutters. “Always.”

“I will hide no more from my family.” Din caresses her face, full of fondness and gratitude. Everything is about to change, and he's waited long enough. “This is our Way.”

Cara leans into his touch, her eyes seeking his through the visor, glittering with emotion. He can feel her tremble, can feel her heart beat faster as the awareness of what is about to happen starts to sink in.

She gives him a nod with faint sniffle.

“I like how it sounds.”

Yes, he likes it, too.

He lets go of her face to bring his hands to the helmet one more time. This time, she doesn't stop him.

While he starts lifting the helmet, the world seems to stop, and it's like he can't breathe.

What will she think? What will she see?

She's so beautiful, and he... he doesn't know what he is.

When the helmet comes off, Din feels like he just pulled his head out of the water after being under for his whole life. The air is cool on his skin, through his hair. He lets the helmet fall to the floor and slowly opens his eyes, both eager and terrified of what he will see.

What he sees is this: his wife's face smiling at him, her eyes watching him with so much love it erases everything else.

“Hey,” he breathes, swallowing a thick lump of emotion.

Cara takes a step forward. She raises her hands, and they're shaking when she tentatively cups them around his face as if he's something extremely valuable she's almost afraid to ruin.

“Hey,” she breathes back with a little choked sound that could be a giggle or could be a sob. Her lips twitch as she sniffles, the glossy dampness barely concealed in her eyes only a blink away from spilling into full tears. Her thumbs swipe across Din's cheeks and only now he realises, feeling the hot wetness her caress is smearing, that he was holding back tears, too.

“So,” he rasps with a nervous smile. “This is me.”

There is something wonderful in how Cara's eyes seem unable to leave his.

“Of course it's you,” she whispers, and Din is dying to kiss her – kiss her radiant smile, the dimples in her cheeks, the beautiful wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Cara tries to pull him closer but her belly gets in the way and they both let out a light laugh when Din bumps against it.

His heart is racing with joy and relief. He can't even think, right now; all he knows is that the heavy chain around his neck is gone and he finally feels whole and complete, free to be who he is really is for the very first time since he was a little boy.

“Not what you expected?” he teases, or tries to. His voice came out ridiculously brittle, but he doesn't even care.

“Why are you such an idiot?” Cara scoffs at him, gives him an impatient shove before breaking into an indulgent grin. “You know I didn't _expect_ anything. Looks like I was wrong, though.” She tips her head back as her grin morphs into a sultry smirk. “You look nothing like a bantha.”

“In a good way or in a bad way?”

“I'm trying to decide.”

Nothings has changed, Din muses, finally allowing himself to breathe again. They're still them, still flirting like young sweethearts and teasing each other without shame.

Nothing has changed, but everything suddenly feels better.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, because Cara is still staring at him in amazement and he's still high on adrenaline and shaking from head to toe from it.

“Yes,” she replies, her voice breaking. She licks her lips, lets out a little laugh. “I just-” Her eyes meet his again, and the raw emotion they bear takes his breath away. “I've never seen you looking at me before.”

Din's fingers close around her wrists. A knot tightens in his throat as the meaning of her words creeps its way to his soul, bringing back memories of when he used to observe her in the safety of her blindness, aching with unspoken love, desperate for her to see him. And here they are now.

“What does it feel like?”

And finally twin, thick tears leave Cara's eyes as she swallows, breaking into an overwhelmed smile as she whispers: “Like you love me very much.”

Din exhales a disbelieving laugh.

_This woman._

He loves her very much. Of course he does. How can he not?

“I'm doing it right, then,” he mutters smugly.

Cara nods over a wet smile.

“I didn't think we would ever have this.”

And this is when he decides he cannot possibly hold himself back any longer: without a warning, he curls a hand behind her neck and one over her hip and pulls her as close as he can, sealing his lips upon hers just in time to smother the faint moan of surprise escaping from her.

He smiles, pressing his nose into Cara's cheek while he deepens the kiss, and Cara smiles, too, clinging to him to keep herself balanced as he spins her around – stupidly, irrationally happy.

He can taste tears on his tongue – Hers? His own? He doesn't even care.

He doesn't know how long they've been kissing when she gasps into his mouth. The kiss breaks and Cara bends over herself, clutching the curve of her belly into her hands with a soft _'Oh!'._

“What is it?” he asks, alarmed. “Is something wrong with-”

But Cara gazes up at him, beaming brightly, and her expression conveys nothing but wonder.

“I think someone's excited to see you,” she says, then takes Din's hand and places it right below her navel, where he feels a light thud against his palm, and then another. “Feel that?”

“Yes,” he says breathlessly. He's never felt such powerful kicks before.

Cara reaches out to drop a kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“I'm so glad I got to see that expression on your face. I'm happy our children will get to know their father's smile.”

It's almost too much for Din to bear. He can't stop looking at her in sheer awe, as though he was the one seeing her for the first time. And Cara must notice, because she makes a funny face at him:

“What?”

“I missed looking into your eyes in the daylight,” he confesses. “I didn't think I would be able to do this again.”

He fell in love with her eyes when she couldn't see him falling in love, couldn't see him get lost in the mesmerising darkness of them, wishing that, one day, she would look back at him with the same devotion he looked at her. A wish that is not longer just a wish, now, because it's right in front of him, real and tangible, a gift too precious for him to ever take it for granted.

“Bean is gonna freak out about this,” says Cara amusedly. Din is slightly worried about this: it's a huge step and needs to be handled accordingly.

“We'll be careful,” he reassures her. “He's smart, he'll get used to it.”

“He will,” Cara agrees as she slips her arms around his waist. “And by the way?” she chuckles. “Expect me to start bragging about my handsome husband.”

“ _Don't,”_ Din warns, but any dramatic intent gets lost when it comes out as a smitten giggle.

“I sure as hell will,” Cara retorts, and there is really nothing Din can do to stop the wide, warm grin that is so obstinately pulling at his lips.

There is an old proverb of his people: _'Verd ori'shya beskar'gam.'_

_'A warrior is more than his armour.'_

Only now he truly comprehends the real meaning of this statement.

He needed to let go of the last piece of his mask to finally understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, this was supposed to be the final part but it got way too long and I had to split it. Third and actual final part to come soon. (I say 'final' but there's a few ideas buzzing in my mind, so this series might not be exactly ending with this story... possibly.)
> 
> As usual, all the love in the world to you guys! Thank for reading and commenting, it takes so little to make an author happy and you are so amazing with your beautiful words! Keep then coming, please!
> 
> Also, honesty time: it took this whole series for me to come to terms with the fact that Din was finally going to take off his helmet. This was a tough decision but I felt it as intimately as Din did and I'm not sorry for his decision. I hope the reasoning behind the conclusion he came to is satisfying and convincing. The poor soul was dying to stip out of his Beskar skin and let his beloved ones have all of him, at long last.


	3. Su'cuy, Cyar'ika

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all comes to an end... with a beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little warning: there is a very mild description of childbirth in this chapter. If you're sensitive to pain and blood, please proceed with care.
> 
> Little warning #2: this chapter also contains ridiculous amounts of fluff and family feels. If you get diabates, don't say I didn't warn you.
> 
> Little warning #3: this is INSANELY LONG. Sorry.

Taking the helmet off for the child feels emotional in an entirely different way from how it felt with Cara, and it's not just because he's the second one to see him. If Din's worry for Cara's reaction was irrational and unjustified, his worry for the kid's reaction is exactly the opposite: he might not recognise him without the helmet, and there is very little he and Cara can do to explain to him what is happening. Din doesn't know what he's going to do if his child is afraid of him, see him as a stranger.

He keeps looking over at Cara, seeking for encouragement. The kid is in her arms, head tucked under her chin like he always does when he wants to be cuddled. He's serene and relaxed, it's the best moment to do this.

Din steps forward, making sure the kid can see him, and places his hands at the sides of his helmet. It takes him a moment to gather the courage to start pulling. The child watches as his father's head slips off his neck, revealing a face he's never seen before, and he doesn't seem as shocked or perturbed as Din feared. In fact, the kid is observing him with a peculiar mixture of diffidence and curiosity, his tiny hands gripping Cara's shirt as he shyly snuggles closer to her, but never taking his eyes off Din.

“Hey,” Cara soothes, gently patting his back. “It's okay. It's Daddy.” She sneaks a finger in between the child's fingers and her shirt and wiggles it reassuringly, then steps forward, sending Din a soft smile. She knows how nervous he is.

“Talk to him, Din," she urges softly. "Let him hear it's you.”

Din hesitantly reaches out with his bare hand. The kid doesn't flinch when he tickles his chin, but he doesn't coo at it as he usually does. So Din tries to do as Cara suggested:

“Hello, womp rat,” he murmurs. It feels so strange to be looking at things in the daylight without the filter of his visor. “I know this is weird,” he says apologetically as the child eyes him in confusion. “Do you recognise my voice?”

He does, in fact. It's taking him some effort, but Din can see the little wrinkles on his forehead slowly smoothing down.

“Look at his face,” giggles Cara, adjusting the kid's position so that he's sitting on top of her rounded belly. “Bean?” She jokingly boops his nose. “Do you wanna go to Daddy?”

“I don't want to scare him,” Din cuts in before she can pass the baby to him, but if there's anyone who is scared, here, that one is Din himself.

“Shut up, he's not scared," Cara objects, too firmly for him to dare to retort. “He's curious.”

That is not a lie: Din can see how the kid's eyes keep scanning him head to toe, as if trying to reconcile the foreign features of a new face with a body he knows so well.

“Okay, I really need you to take him, now,” Cara says with a faint groan. “His sister woke up and her sweet little feet are drumming on my spine.”

Din is too concerned about Cara's pained face to think about anything else; he takes the kid and holds him while Cara arches her back and starts rubbing it up and down.

“Delicate as a mudhorn, aren't you, missy?” she pants as she runs a hand under her belly to try to calm the baby.

“Are you okay?” Din inquires. He always gets edgy when Cara is in pain. It makes him feel helpless, useless.

“I'm okay,” Cara promises. Her look rises to Din and her lips stretch into a warm smile. “And I'm not the only one, it seems.”

Only now Din notices the kid has taken his face into his tiny hands and is gazing up at him with a toothy grin. He seems bolder, now, more at ease.

“Hey,” Din mutters. His heart feels undecided between racing and melting. “It's me. It's still me.”

The child giggles at the sound of his voice. Din exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding, smiling like an idiot. He glances at Cara, who is looking at him with a touched expression that wipes away his last shred of dignity, allowing him to finally break into a liberating laugh while the kid pulls at his moustache, frowning when it doesn't come off.

“See? You're an overanxious idiot.” Cara leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek, then turns to drop one of the kid's head. “Look at you two: finally father and son can look each other in the eye. Feels good, doesn't it, Bean?”

The child gurgles enthusiastically and when Cara starts tickling him he playfully hides his face in the crook of Din's neck, like he always does when he's pretending to be shy but he's actually amused.

Din is too moved to do or say anything. He just stands there, with his child giggling against his neck as his wife tickles him, laughing with him.

This is beyond any dream he might have had, a luxury so immense and so overwhelming he thanks every star in the universe for this. He buries his face in the child's back to stifle a sniff. He hears Cara groan.

“Oh, for kriff's sake, Din, you know what that does to me!” she complains with a sniff of her own as she starts tearing up.

Din chokes out a muffled laugh and pulls her to himself.

“Come on, Dune,” he mutters in her hair. “Let us be soft for a minute.”

Cara doesn't object. She just abandons herself into Din's embrace and smiles against his shoulder.

“Just a minute,” she grudgingly concedes, and Din smiles, too.

Just a minute will do.

They'll have a lot of minutes like this to collect in the future.

Two days later, before leaving Nevarro, they return to the sewers to say goodbye.

“I give you and your family my best wishes,” the Armourer says to Din as she clasps her forearm with his. Their foreheads touch, just for one second, a gesture so intimate and unexpected Din needs a moment to gather himself when she pulls back. As far as they know, they're the last of their people: this might be a farewell.

“Where will you go when your work here is done?” Din asks gingerly.

“Where I am needed,” she simply replies, and though it's an enigmatic answer, Din gets it: with the covert cleared, her purpose now is to search the galaxy for any survivors of their tribe, see if a new covert can be built elsewhere, a safe place to gather their foundlings and raise them as honourable warriors.

When the Armourer steps back from Din, she turns to Cara.

“That Beskar of yours is in need of a signet, girl.”

Cara is wearing her pauldrons, the only piece of her armour that still fits her. No matter how heavy they are, she won't let go of them.

“Who are you calling girl?” she smirks at the Armourer, but Din can see the surprise she's trying to mask. She's been a member of Din's clan since she became his wife, but a signet is like a permanent mark, a high honour Din is sure she wasn't emotionally ready to confront.

“Come over.”

Hesitantly, Cara does as instructed. She slowly walks to the Armourer, wobbling a little because of her size. Halfway through the room, she turns back to shoot Din a piercing glare, as though sensing his fond amusement at her bearing. He shakes his head at her, grinning under his helmet. No one will ever know him as well as she does.

Watching the Armourer weld the Mudhorn signet into Cara's pauldron feels like witnessing a consecration. This is better than a wedding ring, and way more significant: it shows the world that they not only belong to each other, but they're also a part of a family united not by blood, but by love.

Cara admires her prize and looks up at Din, bursting with pride. She doesn't see what else the Armourer is pulling out of a silky bag, but Din does: it's a helmet. It looks exactly like Din's but the colour is lighter, silvery, to match the rest of Cara's armour. It takes her a moment to realise the trajectory of Din's gaze has moved to her side; she turns, finding the Armourer standing beside her with the shiny helmet in her hands, and she finally understands.

“Is that-”

“You have no obligation towards this,” says the Armourer, placing the heavy elmet into Cara's hands. “But it is yours by right as a completion of your armour.” Cara looks down at her gift, then up again at the woman standing if front of her. Her eyes are glossy. “The path your husband chose is his to follow. You are free to follow your own. That will not make you any less of a Mandalorian.”

“I don't know what to say,” Cara mumbles, her voice thin and brittle. Her hands are trembling.

“Your armour is now complete, Cara of the clan of Djarin,” declare the Armourer with a solemn tone. “This is the Way.”

Cara licks her lips, nodding weakly.

“This is the Way.”

The Armourer retrieves something else from the silky bag: it's pendants, two of them, very similar to the one Din got as a child when he became a part of his tribe. Only these ones are his own clan's insignia.

“These are for your children,” the Armourer explains, gesturing for Din to come over. She takes one of Cara's hand and one of his and presses the pendants into their palms, folding them together. “Whatever direction their lives may take,” she says, head turning slightly toward the child Din is holding with his free arm. “Make sure they never forget that the House of Djarin will always be their home.”

There is a moment of stillness. Din tries not to think about what she is implying, that one day he and Cara might have to part from this kid and never see him again. He still prays every day, selfishly, that the Jedi are truly extinct and they will never find them. Should this happen one day, he'll deal with the grief in due time. For now, he'll make the most of the precious time they are given together, all of them.

“I'm sorry,” Cara croaks, sniffling. She frantically wipes the tears from her eyes with a piqued grimace. “It's all these stupid hormones...”

The kid leans out toward her from Din's arms, struggling to reach her.

“No, hey.” Cara exhales a wet laugh, stroking his face as reassuringly as she can. “It's okay, buddy. Mama is okay.”

it takes a few rubs along his ears to convince him, but the kid finally sits back in the bend of Din's elbow.

“Be safe out there,” the Armourer recommends, placing her hands on his and Cara's shoulders.

“Be safe down here,” Din replies. “Until next time.”

“Until next time. And do pay my respects to our common friend.”

“We will.”

The Armourer watches them walk away through the tunnels. When they're far enough, Cara glances back to make sure they're out of hearing range, then whispers to Din:

“Did she and Kaunis-”

“Yep,” he confirms before she can even finish. He saw this question coming the very moment Kaunis's name was mentioned.

Cara chuckles to herself.

“Knew it!”

She keeps chuckling all the way through the bazaar. It's more crowded than usual, today, and gathering their supplies takes longer than expected.

Cara has to carry the kid. Din't Beskar gets hot under the sun and no matter how many layers he puts between himself and the child, it just won't work. It's good that the little thing weighs nothing, because Cara has enough trouble carrying her own body, these days: they're two weeks from her due date and she's getting more and more impatient. Her belly, which Din sometimes jokingly calls the Little Dune, has been growing exponentially in this last month and her back hurts all the time.

As they walk among the stalls, Din is tempted to ask her if she's okay, but Cara hates being doted on, at least in public, so he just observes her in silence to make sure she doesn't show any sign of discomfort. It won't take long, here: within an hour they'll be back on the Crest.

“This is Pherlidian,” Cara says in awe, checking out a shiny black dagger at a second-hand weaponry stall. She picks it up with her free hand and takes it in in utter adoration. “I've always wanted one of these.”

As hot as it is to see Cara wielding dangerous weapons, Din is a bit worried about the chances of the kid getting his hands on it, one way or another: they tried locking things away, but his powers will get him anywhere.

“You want to bring a poisonous blade into the ship with a sneaky toddler around?”

“Ain't that too hardcore a weapon for such a pretty face?” says a huge Zabrak guy next to her. He gives her a condescending glance, to which Cara responds with a glare so sharp the guy's throat must feel like it was sliced in two. He takes a mildly cautious step back as Cara adjusts the kid on her hip and pointedly retorts:

“I'm growing a person inside of me. If you think you can be any more hardcore than this, you're welcome to prove it.”

The Zabrak stutters, clearly taken aback by such an unflinching response.

“The lady has a point, sir,” snickers the woman behind the stall, winking at Cara.

“The lady is also deadly enough without the dagger,” Din intervenes, prying the blade from Cara's reverent hands to set it back on its display hook. “I wouldn't provoke her if I were you.”

Cara doesn't even protest for his intrusion. Flattery works with her, but not like it does with most women. She's a Mandalorian to the bone: if you want to win her over, don't tell her she's beautiful. Tell her she's strong. Tell her she's lethal.

The Zabrak eyes Din, then Cara, then the vendor, who offers him a polite but quite meaningful smile. With a grunt, he tosses a handful of credits to her and shuffles away with the Felucian Skullblade he had been considering before having the terrible idea of questioning Cara's toughness.

They proceed with their shopping, stacking as much as they can in the kid's pram. Din is checking a dried meat stall, Cara just a few feet behind him; he's paying for his purchase when he hears a guttural voice snarl:

“Gimme the bag and you'll be fine. C'mon, doll. Don't wanna hurt you or your lil' ones.”

The blood freezes in his veins. His instinct makes him react before he's even sure what is going on. He just got his blaster out and is spinning around to point it straight between the eyes of whoever just spoke, but he paralyses when he notices the guy in question has a knife pressed against Cara's back.

Cara, however, doesn't seem half as worried as she should be. She's frowning, her teeth bared by a feral expression. She doesn't move, doesn't reach for her blaster. She just stands there, furious, and asks in a sharp, deadly voice:

“Did you just threaten my children?”

Her lack of panic bemuses the robber, whose face is half hidden by a tight scarf. Before the man has a chance to shake off his puzzlement, Cara's elbow shooting into his stomach makes him bend over himself with a suffocated _oof_. She doesn't give him any time to recover: in less than a blink, she lands a hook that most likely unhinges his jaw and with a fist properly slammed against the back of his head the robber collapses into the dirt of the street, knocked out.

The crowd around applauds, but Din knows something isn't right: Cara isn't strutting like she normally would after a show like this. She staggers forward to lean against the closest stall, and that's when Din sees it: a stain of blood spreading on her side over the light green blouse Ona made for her.

Din curses under his breath. He rushes by her side and hastily checks for any other wound, but there seems to be nothing else.

“Don't move,” he says, delicately moving the bloodied fabric aside. There is a cut, not large and deep enough to arise concern. Din has a medpack in his satchel, he can easily take care of this.

“It's nothing, just a scratch,” he informs Cara. “Are you okay?”

She's not. She has one hand clutched to the edge of the stall and the opposite arm curled tightly around the child. She's hyperventilating.

“No, I'm _not_ okay!” she snarls angrily. “I reacted impulsively, it could have gone _very_ wrong! What kind of shitty mother am I if I can't- if I can't even-”

Din pulls her to himself, gripping her arms so hard he must be hurting her, but the pain will ground her, at least.

“Hey,” he calls, trying to shake back into focus, but she just keeps fumbling. “No, no, no, look at me. Look at me, Cara.” He wishes he could take off his helmet so that she could look him in the eye.

And Cara does look at him, but this doesn't erase the crushing guilt from her face.

“Bean was right here! This kriffing moron could have killed him!” she cries, kicking the robber's side so hard Din can almost hear his ribs crack. There is not point in telling her she couldn't have overtaken her instincts, that she _is_ a good mother, and she is _because_ she acted to protect her children before the aggressor had any chance to truly hurt them.

“Breathe,” he coaxes, gently rubbing her back. “You're okay. The kid is okay. The baby is okay. Breathe. Just breathe.”

And Cara breathes. She pliantly follows his voice, lets it rock her hysteria away until her body starts relaxing and her breath slows down, matching his own. She's still crying, but now it's just a matter of venting the pent up tension. Her tears, however, startle the kid, who starts clawing at her blouse to try to get closer to her face.

Cara pulls back from Din's chest, just enough to offer the kid a small, reassuring smile.

“Hey, kiddo. Mama is a mess, isn't she?” she says, cupping his head in her hand.

“Stop doing that,” Din chides. He touches his helmet to her temple, then slides his hand through her hair, his thumb tracing over her cheek. “That was enough stress for today. Show yourself a little kindness.”

To his relief, Cara laughs.

“I'd be lost without you caring about me.”

“We should get a little break from all of this,” Din says, voicing a thought he's been dwelling on for a while. They have a responsibility as parents, and Cara needs to accept the fact that she'll have to put her adventurous spirit on hold in a matter of weeks, if not days. “The baby will be coming soon, some peace and quiet wouldn't hurt any of us. Right, kid?”

He runs a soft caress down the child's worried face to stress his point. Cara sighs.

“I know what you're getting at.”

“And?”

The struggle is hard in Cara. They've been over this several times, more than Din can count; Cara's counter argument was always that it was still early to think of settling down, that she could still handle herself and certainly didn't need to be stranded in a backwater hole before time. That was months ago. Now there in no way she can deny they can't put this off any longer: at this rate, she's going to have the baby in some obscure corner of the galaxy without any medical support available. In the best case scenario.

Din doesn't want this. He wants her to be in a safe and comfortable place when the baby comes, away from any stress and danger. It's time for them to retire for a little while.

“We can go,” sighs Cara in the end. There is pure suffering painted all over her face. “But the Crest needs to be checked by a professional, first. It hasn't been the same since those butchers got their hands on her in Mos Eisley, and I'm not travelling all the way to the Coruscant with that hitch in the hyperdrive.”

This is an objectively unarguable observation. It was an ill-advised move to get those repairs done in Mos Eisely, but they needed cheap parts in a short time and didn't have much of a choice, back then. Now they have collected enough money to have the ship fixed properly.

“I know someone trustworthy,” he conveys. “But her hangar's location requires a little detour.”

Cara's eyebrows shoot upward.

 _“Her_ hangar?” She feigns indignation as she smacks his chest. “Din Djarin, do you have a girl in every port?”

Din lets out a faint laugh.

“Of course.” He takes her hand and locks his fingers with hers as he leads the way to the end of the bazaar. “Just wait until you meet her.”

They have to go back to Tatooine to get to the workshop. Albeit it's been a while since Din was last here, nothing has changed: the same dusty patina covers the entirety of the place and its piles of spare parts and wreckages.

The three droids must recognise the Crest, because they peek up from behind the window but don't dare come outside.

Din helps Cara off the ramp, holding her hand as she carefully waddles on. He knows how much this frustrates her, how she yearns to get her agility back, even though she never complains.

“Well,” she pants once she's off the ramp, glancing around in slight surprise. “This doesn't look half as bad as I feared. Definitely above average, for the area.”

He lets her catch her breath. The kid tries to wiggle around in the sling strapped across Din's chest to look around: the environment is not new to him, the sounds and the smells making him so curious Din needs to hold him before he rolls out of the sling.

“I know you.”

Din turns around to the source of the familiar voice. He sees the petite lady walking forward with a light smirk, hands rubbing grease off on a dirty cloth.

“Peli Motto,” Din greets, hoping he sounds as pleased as he is. “It's good to see you.”

He shakes the woman's hand and she shakes back, quite energetically.

“Good to see you too, Mandalorian. I know this lil' one, too, don't I?” she coos at the child. “Nice to see him so healthy. He hasn't grown much in this couple of years, has he?”

Before Din can answer to that, Peli looks over at Cara, her hairless brows stretching up with interest.

“I never met this young lady, though.”

“This is my wife Cara,” says Din proudly as Cara steps ahead with a big smile, which Peli kindly returns.

“Wife. Of course, of course. Well, look at you. I've seen moons not quite as round as you.”

Cara rolls her eyes toward Din with a half annoyed and half amused expression.

“She's close to term,” he explains, before she comes up with one of her snarky retorts.

Peli nods vehemently.

“'course she is. Sit down, child, sit down,” she says to Cara, gesturing toward a small bench nearby. “Let old Peli get you somethin' to drink.”

Unexpectedly, Cara obliges. She has to hang onto the bench's back to ease herself down, and when she's finally seated she lets out a satisfied moan.

“You hungry, hunny?”

“A little. But, please, don't trouble yourself for-”

“Hush! You lil' one needs nourishment!”

Cara's forehead furrows as she looks up at Peli.

“Do I look malnourished?”

Din turns to her with a scolding glower that reaches out to her through the helmet. She rolls her eyes, then puts on a stiff smile and turns to Peli: “Anything will do. Thank you.”

When Peli disappears inside her workshop without even asking what their business here is, Din sits down next to Cara. The child is still restless in his sling. Din lets him out of it and he instantly crawls into Cara's arms, snuggling as close to her as he can.

“Hey,” she giggles, folding her arms around him. “What's the deal, Bean? You're being so clingy, today.”

The kid mewls into her neck, curling tighter into her embrace. Din and Cara exchange a puzzled shrug. He catches something in her look, a glimpse of restraint, as if there was something she isn't telling.

“You okay?” he inquires, placing a hand on her knee.

Cara gives him a half-hearted nod. “My back is killing me. She's been tossing and turning all day.”

Din's hands moves to her belly. He immediately feels what she means: the baby is restless in there, he can feel the ripples of her movements under his palm, though they seem somehow less neat than usual. It takes him a moment to figure out that it's Cara's belly that actually feels harder.

“Do you want a back rub?”

“I don't think it would work. What I need is a sedative for your daughter.”

“I'm not the fiery parent, here,” Din argues. “If she turns out to be handful, it's not my fault.”

Cara cups her hand over his neck, lovingly brushing her thumb over his skin.

“I know this will sound corny, but I'm glad you're here. I couldn't have done this on my own.”

“The one thing you couldn't have done on your own is this,” he quips, tracing his hand down the mound of her belly. “As to anything else, there is nothing you can't do, Dune.”

He means every word. He's thought about this a lot in these months: their kind of lifestyle is dangerous, however careful one may try to be. If Din died, he would die knowing his children have the strongest, most loving mother in the universe, that they would grow up safe and loved, always. What he can't think about is Cara's sorrow if she lost him. He's painfully aware of how deeply and unconditionally he is loved, and to even imagine Cara raising their kids without him makes him die a little inside. He'll do his best to keep himself alive, but he has no doubt that Cara would be capable of facing a life without him, for the children's sake. She's stronger than she thinks she is and the incident at the bazaar, the other day, proved how fiercely she is ready to fight to protect her family.

Cara inhales a deep breath, gazing down at where his hand is resting with a wistful shadow upon her features.

“I don't know if I'm ready for this, Din,” she murmurs, covering his hand with her own. When he meets her eyes through his visor, he finds them full of apprehension. “I'm not cut out-”

The kid's hand pawing at her face smothers whatever she was about to say. Din is positive it's nothing he wanted to hear, anyway. Cara doubts herself too much as a mother and there is nothing he can say or do to comfort her. But, apparently, the kid's more aggressive strategy works better than Din's quiet reassurance.

Cara laughs, trying to face away from the child's insistent touches as he laughs, too, encouraged by her amusement. Din catches a vague shimmer at the corners of her eyes, and his heart swells with love.

This is _his._

This family – this beautiful, wonderful family – belongs to him, and he to them.

“Well, look at the two of you.”

All three of them jump. They hadn't noticed Peli's return: she's standing a few feet from them with a tray in her hands and a touched grin brightening her face.

“Never seen two youngsters so terrified of a baby,” she says, setting down the tray on the seat of a half-wrecked speeder. “'t's gonna be alright, you'll see.”

She fills a cup with tea and hands it to Cara along with a big brown biscuit.

“Thank you,” replies Cara, visibly moved by this stranger's kindness. Din attempts to take the kid to let her have her tea in peace, but the little one won't let go of her.

“Leave him,” says Cara, balancing the cup and the biscuit upon her legs while the child obstinately wiggles back into the crook of her arm. “It's okay, Bean. Daddy is just jealous because you're being Mama's boy, today.”

She flashes Din a broad smile that could outshine every single sun out there, and Din feels like a burden has just been lifted off his shoulders. Cara has a lot of moments of anxiety like this, he's used to them, but he still doesn't like to see her so scared and fragile, especially since she has no reason to be.

Once he's sure she's back to her usual self, Din leaves her and the kid to enjoy their tea while he shows Peli what needs to be done about the Crest.

Peli is very vocal about the blatant inaccuracy of the repairs she spots here and there and Din can't stress enough how much he regrets not coming to her in the first place.

“This is gonna cost you a lot, son,” she snaps disapprovingly. “Takes nothin' to fix broken things, but it's a whole different business if I got to undo such a mess and put it all back together again!”

“Money is no object,” he promises. “I'll pay you upfront. How long is it going to take?”

“Couple of days,” says Peli, pushing his hand away when he offers her the entire sum he owes her. “You pay when the job is done. I'm no beggar.”

He likes this woman.

Peli sends him off to town to get a few parts she's going to need. She tells him where to go exactly and whom to ask for and to say that she sends him. Din loads the speeder Peli leant him with all he can and pays for the rest to be delivered at the hangar by night.

He returns when the suns have just started descending toward the horizon. He finds Cara still on the bench while the kid plays in the sand at her feet.

Cara is sitting back against a few cushions that weren't there before. She smiles at Din when she sees him coming, but he can tell at once something is not right when he sits at her side. Cara is breathing hard, her hands clutched around her belly. Her face is slightly sweaty.

“You're in pain.”

“It's nothing,” she grunts, sounding so unconvincing she doesn't even try to deny when Din asks:

“How long has this been going on?”

“Couple of hours. Maybe a bit more. Din, I'm fine-”

He puts the signs together – the backache, the hardened belly, the kid refusing to leave her – and they suddenly make sense. Kaunis would be proud to know her lectures served their purpose.

“No, you're not. You're _in labour.”_

Cara opens her mouth to protest, but all that comes out of it is a choked moan.

“Okay, maybe I'm in labour,” she grimaces, trying to focus on her breathing. “Kaunis is gonna kill us both if I give birth in this shit hole.”

Din can't hold back a nervous laugh. He can't bring himself to think about what Kaunis will say about this: the baby is coming. It's happening. After all this time, after seeing Cara growing so big little by little, now everything is coming down on them so unexpectedly he can barely grasp one single feeling from the tangle of emotions swirling uncontrollably within his chest.

They haven't even agreed on a name yet.

Cara is so sure it's a girl, but what if it's a boy?

They're not ready with the necessary equipment. Kaunis bought them all they need, they were on their way to get everything from her... it's happening too fast.

They're having a baby.

They're having a _baby._

“What's goin' on here?” Peli inquires briskly coming out of her workshop

“He's freaking out,” answers Cara in between breaths.

“She has contractions,” Din objects, standing up. “We need to find a healer.”

“No healers here. Get her inside, son. Peli will take care of this.”

“You've done this before?”

Peli crosses her arms with a pompous stance. “I had three daughters and helped them give birth to eight healthy lil' ones.”

Din couldn't ask for anything better than this, given the circumstances.

“Good enough to me,” he declares while helping Cara to her feet. Peli gets the kid.

“Come on, child,” she gently whispers to Cara as they bring her inside. “Let's get you comfortable. You got a few intense hours ahead of you.”

Peli readies a bed for Cara in her guest room – the room that once was her girls'. She gathers all the pillows she has and piles them in a corner, should they be required, then gets Cara an old pale blue nightgown that is definitely too short for Cara but large enough to fit her current size.

Din helps her strip out of her clothes under the child's confused gaze. They reassure him that everything is alright, but he stays glued to the edge of his pram, watching eagerly every single movement, every gesture, listening carefully to every little cry and moan Cara lets out. He's smart, he might not know exactly what is happening but he understands enough to be concerned.

They try to get Cara lying down, but she says it doesn't feel right. Din seeks Peli's eyes for advice.

“'t's alright, son. Let her do how she feels. Her body knows what it needs.”

So while Peli keeps gathering stuff into the room – water, towels, blankets... – Din gets rid of his armour, which feels impossibly heavy and tight to bear. He ends up standing with Cara in the middle of the room, her arms locked around his neck and her head resting under his chin. The pain is growing, and Din's anxiety with it. He knows birth is natural and occurs thousands of times every day, but he can't help the increase in his heartbeat as the minutes go by.

It doesn't take long before Cara's water breaks. She curses against Din's chest when it happens and apologises to Peli for the mess, but Peli, utterly unbothered, just mops up the floor like it's no big deal.

“This is just the beginning, hunny. You'll see when your lil' one arrives.”

Cara exhales a shaky laugh, but Din's knees are going a little weak. He keeps rubbing her back while she slowly rocks side to side as Peli suggested; it's actually helping with the pain, which Din is extremely glad of, because he hates to see Cara suffering, even if it's for something as exciting as this.

“Feels like we're dancing, doesn't it?” he jokes.

“Yeah.” Cara's muffled giggle reverberates through his chest. “Except that I'm supposed to be swaying gracefully and I'm wobbling like a Hutt, instead.”

If Din could, he would press his lips into her hair.

“You're too pretty for a human,” he says. “Let alone a Hutt.”

Cara's giggle intensifies until it makes her groan.

“Don't make me laugh. It hurts all over my spine.”

Din starts kneading his fingers more firmly along the most tense spots in her back.

“Better?”

Cara nods feebly. “A little.”

He doesn't know how long they stand there, barely moving. Peli comes back to check up on Cara every now and then, asks a few questions, then leaves again to return to her workshop.

Din has never felt so useless in his entire life. He glances over at the kid, who's hasn't lost sight of Cara for a single second, and the kid sends him a toothy simper.

“Din,” Cara whispers in a low moan.

“Mh?”

“We're having a baby.”

Din's heart leaps as he grins.

“I guess we are.”

“Is this real? How did we get from punching each other on Sorgan to this?”

He can't count how many times he's asked himself this question, in how many occasions.

 _How did we get to this?,_ he wondered the first time they had to strip down to their underwear to mend each other's wounds after their first job together.

 _How did we get to this?,_ he wondered in amazement the first time he fell asleep with her and the kid sprawled upon his chest.

 _How did we get to this?,_ he wondered the first time he got to kiss Cara's naked body and feel her squirm and cry under his worshipping ministrations.

 _How did we get to this?,_ he' wondering right now, lulling her through the pain waves hoping she can feel through his caresses how much he loves her and admires her for what she's enduring.

“I don't really know,” he mutters. “I'm just glad this is where it got us.”

Cara straightens up for a moment to let her forehead rest against his.

“You're such a beautiful softie.”

It still shocks Din to see how much she loves him. After years together, he still has no idea what he's done to deserve this woman. He would have been content with having her in his life – as a friend, a companion – but here they are, waiting for their baby to be born and their other kid observing them with such a funny, bewildered face.

“I think I'd like to lie down, now,” Cara pants, riding a particularly intense contraction.

Din wishes he could take this pain from her. He would do this for her, if he could, but he's sure he could never withstand this slow agony as bravely as she is.

He leads her to the bed and helps her lie down. It tales a few tries to find a position that isn't too uncomfortable for her, but when they finally get it right she lets out a long, relived sigh.

“It's okay, Bean,” she says to the child when Din drives his pram closer to her. She reaches out to scratch one of his ears with a fond expression. “Your baby sis is coming, aren't you excited?”

A lump of raw sentiment swells in Din's throat at this sight. He feels so humbled to have all of this. He doesn't care if they'll have to give up hunting to raise the children. If six months ago the idea of settling down in a place as ordinary as Beltas Dor seemed too foreign and unreasonable to even consider, now he's catching himself dreaming about a simple life more and more often – a cosy home, a safe place to let the children play. His vows as Mandalorian compels him to honour his duty towards his family above anything else: bring up his children strong and brave and kind, and this exactly what he plans to do.

Peli arrives to check up the situation when the second sun has just vanished beneath the skyline. She turns on the lights, collects the couple of towels Din used to wipe Cara's damp face, then puts on a motherly air that visibly moves Cara.

“How are those contractions, hunny?”

Cara licks her lips, abandoned back into the pillows.

“Getting worse. And closer.”

“It won't take long, then. Almost there.” Peli hands her a bowl of sliced lemons. “No water allowed,” she explains when Cara blinks up at her. “But you got to keep yourself hydrated.”

Much to Din's shock, Cara shears off the juicy pulp of every single slice in the bowl without a single hint of reaction to the sour taste.

Peli chuckles at her eagerness and promises to bring her more soon.

“Where are you going?” Cara asks in alarm when the woman heads to the door.

“Business calls,” says Peli. “Got some urgent work to finish by tomorrow. You kids got this. Holler if you need anythin', yeah?”

She crosses the threshold, then halts and turns back staring in Din's direction:

“Remember, son: four fingers.”

Din blankly stares back.

“Four fingers?”

“That's how dilated she needs to be before she starts pushing,” Peli states matter-of-factly. “I'll knock when I come back, if you wanna get comfortable.”

As soon as they are alone again, Cara somehow finds the energy to smirk at Din.

“I wish I could see your face right know.”

She can, now, can't she? He's fairly certain is what Peli meant by _getting comfortable._ The door is closed, it's just them and the kid in here. He places his hands at the sides of his helmet and slips it off, sighing in relief as he does. This feels good. He smiles at Cara and she smiles back, sweaty and flustered and so beautiful.

“What did she mean by _dilated?”_ he wonders as he sets the helmet down on the floor.

Cara seems suspiciously amused.

“Okay, don't freak out: you need to check _down there_ if I'm dilated enough for the baby to come out.”

The information takes a moment to be fully processed by Din's overstressed brain. It's nothing too difficult, is it?

“I can do that.”

“Oh?”

It's Din's turn to smirk. “It's nothing I haven't seen before.”

Cara snorts to conceal a laugh.

“I swear to the stars, if you pass out before the kid is out and leave me to this on my own, I'll kriffing kill you.”

Din goes to sit by her side.

“I won't, I promise.”

He wraps an arm around her shoulders and finally presses a kiss to her temple.

“Don't,” she whines. “I'm all sweaty and gross.”

He has a flashback from not so long ago, back at the beginning of her pregnancy, when they thought her throwing up was nothing more than a concussion.

“I don't care,” he says, echoing his own words from back then.

Cara grins. She remembers, too.

It's pitch black outside by the time Cara starts feeling the urge to push. Her moans awaken the kid, who had fallen asleep shortly after eating his dinner.

Din moves to the end of the bed and leans between Cara's spread legs. His heart skips a beat as he retracts his hand.

 _Four fingers,_ Peli said.

It's time.

“Where the kriff is that old hag?” Cara is crying under the pressure of another contraction. They're getting more frequent and lasting longer, which only confirms what Din already knew.

“Doesn't matter,” he says, a little tremblingly. “The baby is coming. We need to do this on our own.”

“I'm gonna kill that unreliable mudscuff-”

A groan of pain suffocates her voice mid-sentence as the contraction's intensity grows. Cara curls on herself, face red, eyes squeezed shut. She's gripping the sheets so tight they're going to rip at the next one.

And then, out of nowhere, the screaming stops, and slowly Cara starts breathing almost normally.

Din looks up, alarmed. This is _supposed_ to hurt.

“What's wrong?”

Cara collapses back into the pillows, glancing at her side. The kid is reaching his stubby hands out to her, his face crumpled in a deeply concentrated scowl.

“He's... numbing my pain,” she pants. Din can see a surge of fondness mixing with concern all over her features. He looks over at the child and sees he's doing alright. There is no need to worry about him, right now.

“Can you hold on a little longer, kid?” Din beams at him. He's so proud of their tough little boy. “We're almost there.” He checks again between Cara's legs and immediately looks up with an incredulous smile. “I can see the head!”

But Cara is too worried about their other child to pay too much attention to what he's saying.

“Get him out of here, Din. He's gonna tire himself out.”

“He's got this.” He squeezes her knees reassuringly. “We're all in this together.”

Cara scoffs in between deep, controlled breaths.

“I'm not seeing a fair share of the trouble, here,” she grumbles.

At the next contraction, the significant decrease of the pain helps her concentrate on pushing. It takes a few tries, but at long last, along with the blood and the fluids pooling over the towels, a little pink head appears between Din's trembling hands. All he can see is sparse, thin hair and two impossibly small ears, but he's already a goner.

“The head is out,” he babbles. He doesn't know if his sight is blurred by tears or if he's just too overwhelmed. “Come on, Cara!”

“You're having the next one, Djarin,” she growls low in her throat, grabbing her own knees to help herself up. “I swear to the stars-”

“Come on,” he coaxes. His pulse is sky-high, no wonder he feels so dizzy. “Deep breath. One last push.”

The room fills with Cara's scream as she gives all of herself to finally bring their baby into the world.

Din's face is the first thing their little girl sees when she opens her eyes. He can easily hold her in one hand, livid and slimy and covered in blood, and he can barely keep himself together as he watches her writhe and squirm, light as a feather and just as delicate.

He uses the pin Peli left with the towels to clamp the birth cord and cuts it with religious dedication before wrapping the baby into a clean towel.

She blinks in confusion. When he takes her in his arms, laughing in amazement, she gives him something like a smile, and he melts from a feeling so intense and powerful that, just for one moment, everything else just disappears.

“It's a girl,” he stutters in utter awe. _“It's a girl.”_

It's a beautiful, healthy baby girl who looks so much like Cara he already knows it will be agony for him when she grows up: he's going to have to fend off boys and girls from her and her gorgeous little face.

“ _Su'cuy, cyar'ika,”_ he greets, bouncing her gently. She's so small, so light...

She's the one whose movements he's been following in her mother's womb all this time. The one who made Cara throw up and curse and cry in frustration. The one they have been so eagerly waiting for.

“Din?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think I can hold the fruit of our love and _my_ labour for a moment?”

Reality clicks back into focus and Din is jolted out of his reverie: he's in Peli Motto's house, Cara just gave birth to their daughter.

Cara.

_Cara._

His head snaps up to find her lying between the pillows, face wet with sweat and tears. She's grinning at him, sniffling without even bothering to try to hide it. The mother of his children. _Beautiful._ Beautiful as ever.

Din scoots up the bed until he's sitting by her side.

“Forgive me.” He presses an apologetic kiss to her forehead and carefully eases the baby down into her waiting arms.

“Hey,” Cara breathes shakily, voice laced with overwhelming emotion. “It's good to finally meet you, honey.”

The way the baby fits so perfectly into her arms, against the softness of her bosom, makes Din's heart ache with love. This was meant to be: Cara was born for this - to hold a baby in her arms, to be a mother. It's nothing he didn't already know, but seeing her like this reinforces his belief.

“And guess what?” Cara adds, shooting a mischievous chuckle Din's way. “Daddy owes us one hundred credits.”

The bet. The bet Din never really cared about. Cara can have those one hundred credits – she can have all he has. She gave him all of this, there is no way he can give her enough to pay her back.

The kid throws himself into Din's arms from his pram. Din catches him mid-air and he giggles, happy to be involved. After all he's done today, he deserves some recognition.

“She looks so much like you,” Din comments, scrutinising the baby's bright eyes with pride burning in his chest like wild fire.

Cara tilts her head to take a better look at the baby. “You think?” She notices the kid is eyeing her curiously and smiles at him. “Hey, Bean. Don't be shy: come meet your little sister.”

Din lets the child stretch forward to see better: he coos, fascinated, and one of the baby's hands reaches out for him, as if wanting to say hi. The kid touches it tentatively, then holds it between his fingers, and the baby girl lets out a funny gurgle that sounds so much like a faint giggle.

Din and Cara exchange an overjoyed look. They're finally all here together.

They sit here in silence for a long while, just savouring each other's presence, the wonderful warmth of this moment, then Din suddenly says:

“We still don't have a name.”

Cara snuggles closer to him under his arm, turns her face to kiss his cheek.

“First thing she ever heard was the voice of her father calling her _darling,”_ she says softly. “I think it would be a fitting name – Sharika.”

A Mandalorian name.

Din gulps down a knot in his throat. He nods, unable to elaborate anything more complex than that.

“You hear that, kid? This is your baby sister Shari.”

“I was thinking...” Cara bites her lip, hesitating. “He needs a name, too. We need to be realistic and start considering the idea that we are probably going to be Bean's parents forever.”

Din doesn't need to consider: he's already accepted this a long time ago, and he knows Cara has, too.

“Go on.”

“If we're naming her Sharika, we could name him Vodika.”

Din's arm tightens around her shoulders.

“Vodi,” he muses, meeting the child's inquiring look. He understands this is about him.

“Can we really call him Little Brother if he's actually older than her?”

“He's going to be a lot of children's little brother,” Cara argues fondly, and this is such an inescapable truth that it's also a little cruel, but she's right. She's always right.

“I guess you have a point.”

The baby starts fussing. Cara pulls her closer to herself, trying to soothe her, but her little angry mewls don't cease.

“I think she might be hungry,” Din muses.

Cara shifts her to pull at the ribbon keeping the nightgown together. She undoes it and slips it off one shoulder until her breast is exposed.

“Alright, sweetheart,” she tells the baby, struggling to find the right angle for her to start feeding. “You've got to help Mama out, here. This is new for both of us.”

The baby instantly latches on. It's such a tender, touching sight to see Cara nurse their little girl, Din is going to remember this as one of the most precious memories in his life.

After a moment, though, Cara starts making a weird face.

“Okay, this is not cool.”

Din frowns. “Hurts?”

“Like hell,” Cara groans. “Feels like electrocution.”

“If it hurts, you're both doin' it wrong, darlin',” warns a voice beyond the door.

Din quickly retrieves his helmet and slips it back on, then tells Peli she can come in.

When she enters, her eyes dart to Cara and the baby nestled against her chest.

“Well done, hunny,” she congratulates. She takes a peek at the baby, nodding enthusiastically. “Well done to you, too,” she says, patting Din's back.

“Here, let Peli show you,” she adds then, helping Cara move the baby into a different position. “Gotta try a few times before you get it right, but you'll see. C'mon, lil' one, gotta help your momma with this. Yes, yes, I know, I know. Just one sec, I promise.”

It's hard to convince the baby to let go of Cara's breast, but when she does Peli manages to reposition her so that she's lying on top of Cara.

“I have no idea what I'm doing,” Cara admits, a bit dejectedly, but Peli tuts at her.

“'course you don't, dear! None of us does, at first. You'll learn.”

As she says this, the baby latches back on and starts nursing again. This time, however, it doesn't make Cara grimace.

“See? Better, innit?”

“So much better,” Cara sighs, relieved. “Thank you.”

“Not at all, child, not at all.”

Peli stands back and crosses her arms, observing the little family in satisfaction.

“Well, look at the four of you. Such a heart-warmin' picture you make.”

After this, Peli helps Cara deliver the afterbirth, then throughly cleans her up, shoves all the dirty stuff into a sack and leaves them to rest.

Din could sit here forever, just watching his wife feed their baby girl while he and their boy sit by their side full of wonder.

As a boy, Din used to think all he could expect from his life was a honourable career as a hunter, a warrior's death at the end of his path. Then a job went wrong hijacked the expected course of his life and filled it with twists and turns that ultimately brought him here, in this room, with a woman he encountered in the least likely of places and without whom he would have lost his child a long time ago.

He owes her their child's life – _Vodi's_ life.

He owes her his own life. His happiness.

Everything he has, he owes her.

“Stop thinking so loudly, man,” Cara scolds him without taking her enamoured look from their daughter. “Just switch off that dramatic brain of yours and relax. We all deserve it.”

Din removes his helmet again, then pulls up his legs onto the bed and crosses his ankles, the kid splayed upon his chest, slowly falling asleep.

“You're a force of nature, Cara Dune,” he whispers as he touches his lips to her hair. The softness of her body against his is comforting, it washes the tension out of his muscles and joints, leaving him boneless, tired but content.

Cara cuddles up against him, careful not to disturb the baby, who's still suckling her milk quietly. Her drowsy movements ooze exhaustion – the best kind of exhaustion Din can imagine.

“Yeah,” she grins smugly, “I know.”

***

“ _We are one when together.  
We are one when parted.  
We will share all.  
We will raise warriors."_

— Mandalorian marriage vows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is a wrap. It's done, guys. I won't spend tons of stupid moved words to say once again how emotionally attached I got to this series and these characters because by now you're all tired of hearing this. I just want to stress how much I LOVE and appreciate you all for walking this beautiful path with me, especially those of you who were kind enough to share their thoughts with me. Your comments give me life and make my writing experience one million times more emotional and rewarding. I owe you guys a lot, you are amazing!
> 
> This is it, this is the end. It would be lovely to hear from every single one of you how this was. Consider leaving a comment even if it's just a few words: it takes very little to make an emotionally starving author happy.
> 
> I love you and I love these beautiful idiots. See you all out there with new stories and new journeys.

**Author's Note:**

> I still can't believe I'm so disgustingly in love with these two I actually wrote a whole series. This is more than my muse normally produces in a whole year.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys are still with me even if things got a little bit too cheesy, here. I tried not to, but these two just give me so many feels and everything slipped out of my control. Please, forgive me for this disgusting fluff.


End file.
